


Eat, Drink, and Read Drabbles

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [94]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Found Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Even MORE drabbles for the 'By Any Other Name' Universe. Including Challenges from '12 Days of Cheer'.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Series: by any other name [94]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 389
Kudos: 219





	1. Family Structure

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to post some shorts from the '12 Days Of Cheer' prompts from tumblr here as well!
> 
> Here is the prompt list:  
> 1\. Ugly Sweaters  
> 2\. Family  
> 3\. Ice Skating/Sledding  
> 4\. Santa  
> 5\. Decorating  
> 6\. Cocoa  
> 7\. Toys  
> 8\. Mistletoe  
> 9\. Cookies/Baking  
> 10.Snowballs/Snowmen  
> 11\. Naughty or Nice  
> 12\. Opening Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s possible Edge and Jeff both have skewed ideas about family. They’re learning.
> 
> As a quick warning, Jeff's parents weren't the kindest and there is some referenced past homophobia.

  
“My mom only ever made this fudge at Christmas,” Jeff said, pulling ingredients out of a paper bag. It felt a little weird to be in Edge’s kitchen and being the one to choose a sauce pan and measuring cups. “Old family recipe kind of thing, you know.”

“Not really.” Edge picked up the can of evaporated milk, studying the label. “I’m afraid the only family I had as a child was Red, and I assure you of the many things he shared with me, recipes were not one of them.” 

“Heh, I guess not.” Maybe once that kind of statement would have left Jeff floundering, but these days he knew Edge wasn’t trying to be mean. He only stated the facts as he saw them and yeah, he didn’t have a mom to teach him the dark secrets of Christmastime candy making.

“She taught me the recipe when I was thirteen. My dad was…” Jeff trailed off, measuring sugar and butter into the saucepan, pouring in the evaporated milk. Edge didn’t press, only watched as Jeff set the pan on the stove. Once the burner was lit, the butter melting, Jeff said, low. “He didn’t like it when I cooked. Always thought that was a woman’s thing, a real man didn’t hang out in the kitchen. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense since a lot of chefs on the food network are guys, right?” 

“Gender doesn’t really influence cooking skill, no,” Edge agreed. He clipped the digital thermometer to the side of the pan and both of them watched the digits slowly climbing. “I suppose the case could be made for it being a born skill, though, since Stretch doesn’t seem able to make grilled cheese yet without burning it.”

“Very true,” Jeff laughed. The mixture began to slowly bubble, taking on a rich, golden color and Jeff stirred it constantly, keeping it from frothing over. “Anyway, I don’t have any brothers or sisters, and my mom was adamant that the recipe for my great-grandma’s fudge gets passed on. She and my dad, they…they don’t always get along.”

Understatement of the year, but he wasn’t sure how to explain it to someone who’d never had parents. How it felt to be a kid, hiding in his bedroom listening to them scream at each other. Making wishes to Santa, to God, to anyone who might be listening that they would stop and maybe, maybe they could all be happy for once, maybe—

Edge’s face never seemed quite as malleable as Stretch’s, he wasn’t one for huge grins and belly laughs. But Jeff could see the way his expression softened, the deep crimson of his eye lights brightening in sympathy. The first time Jeff met Edge, he’d been pretty damned intimidated; those sharp teeth were off-putting and the crack in his socket made him seem so fierce, even dangerous. It wouldn’t be right to say he wasn’t those things, seriously, he was. The thing was, that wasn’t all he was, not even close. 

Edge was gentle and Edge was protectiveness. He was generosity and he was kindness. Anyone who didn’t take the time to see that in him didn’t damn well deserve to call him friend, anyway. 

His touch was uncertainly cautious as he settled a gloved hand on Jeff’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and Jeff nodded, taking a deep breath and stirring the bubbling mixture. “So, she taught me the recipe even though my dad told her—”

 _Told her she was making me a sissy,_ Jeff didn’t say, because fuck his dad, anyway. He wasn’t going to repeat that shit even to explain.

The thermometer beeped and Jeff pulled the pan off the heat, setting it on a hot pad. Together, he and Edge poured in the chocolate chips and the marshmallows, Jeff stirring it fiercely as it all melted into the hot mixture. 

“My mom said the recipe needed to stay in the family,” Jeff said at last.

“And so you’re teaching it to me out of revenge?” It was said neutrally, no judgement at all in Edge’s voice, but Jeff shook his head. 

“No, that’s not it,” Jeff said quietly. “She said it needed to stay in the family and…you’re family. So I wanted to teach it to you.”

Edge said nothing, only lined the square pan with aluminum foil, and that was fine. He wasn’t looking for any flowery speeches or tears, and if anyone would get what he was trying to show by giving this recipe, it was Edge. Together, they poured the hot mixture into the pan, smoothing the top and that was done.

But when Jeff looked up there was a strange expression on Edge’s face, one that he couldn’t place.

“What is it?”

“I’m really not sure if I should show you this,” Edge said, apologetically. He picked up the empty can of evaporated milk and Jeff took it in confusion. One long, gloved finger tapped the label and Jeff looked down at it, his mouth moving along as he silently read the recipe printed there, butter, sugar, marshmallows, chocolate chips…

What the fuck…

Jeff jerked his head up, meeting Edge’s gaze. “I can’t be sure, but I suspect that your grandmother’s recipe isn’t quite as secretive as your mother thought.”

A sudden bubble of laughter burst from Jeff, too-loud and pained, and somehow, that was okay. Edge’s mouth twitched into a smile and it made laughing easier, letting it carry away all the past pain and memories, until Jeff was wiping away the tears that were stinging at the corners of his eyes. 

“Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about forgetting it,” Jeff shook his head, tossing the can into the recycling bin. 

“I suppose not. Jeff?” He turned to Edge, who met his gaze solemnly. “Thank you for showing me your family recipe.”

“Our family recipe,” Jeff told him and his eye lights shimmered. 

“Ours,” Edge agreed. They left it to cool and went out to the living room where Stretch and the others were sitting together in the midst of a fierce argument over whether or not ‘Die Hard’ should be included in their Christmas movie viewing list.

Jeff sat next Antwan on the love seat, leaning back as strong arms slipped around him. He already knew how he was voting in the movie debate, only waited as Edge settled next to Stretch. Both of them joining the rest of their family. 

-finis-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been seeing posts all over recently about people whose secret family recipes weren't as secret as they thought, I wanted to see how that played out here. ^_^


	2. Unbalanced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day #3: Ice Skating

* * *

The lake in New New Home was a man-made one, or Monster-made, as it were. To the disappointment of children and adults alike, the work only finished as the seasons came into Fall, long after the possibility of swimsuit weather. 

But as the temperatures plummeted and the water froze, new opportunities for fun arose. 

The lake was already crowded with other Monsters, couples skating together in lazy rounds by the shoreline and children laughing and squealing as they skittered and slipped along. In the furthest corner was a group playing hockey, eager shouts carrying in the chill air. 

Snow was piled up around the lake shore, banks of powdered cushions as a landing place for those Monsters who didn’t have years in Snowdin as a teacher. A sort of hut was rigged up further away and a few of the older Buns teenagers who often helped their parents run the bakery were showing their budding entrepreneurial spirit by selling steaming cups of cocoa and donuts fresh from the fryer. The line was long and moving briskly. 

Standing by a row of benches, Edge looked out over the lake, taking in the sight. Monsters bundled up in colorful outdoor hats and coats, laughing and playing, surrounded by snow that sparkled in the cold sunshine. Jeff and Antwan were already out on the ice, Jeff showing unforeseen grace as he looped and swerved, even managing a wobbly spin, both of them grinning happily together. 

Meanwhile, behind Edge was his husband, sitting on one of the benches and muttering curses that should by rights be turning the air around him a fine shade of blue. Edge turned to watch Stretch struggling to tie his skates. His gloves were next to him on the bench but even with bare hands he seemed to be having plenty of trouble. 

“Would you like a hand?” Edge asked and earned a sharp glare for his troubles. 

“no! i can do this, stupid damn—urg!!” Stretch gave the laces a frustrated tug and then slumped back, staring down in despair at the Gordian knot on his skate.

It was awkward to walk through the snow on skates, but Edge managed. He crouched down, gently brushing Stretch’s hands away as he reached down again. Edge studied the tangled mess of string, reached out to give one loop a sharp tug and the knot unraveled. That problem averted, he deftly tied each skate, double-knotting the laces in an attempt to thwart the untying curse that afflicted his love whenever shoelaces were involved. 

“There.” Edge eased back to his feet and held a hand down to Stretch. “Do they feel good? Not too loose?”

“no, they’re fine,” Stretch muttered. He took Edge’s hand, wobbling like a newborn foal. 

“Easy!” Edge caught him as his feet went out from under him, steadying him. Stretch clung to him with the strangling strength of a drowning victim. A niggling suspicion surfaced. “You said you’d been skating before?”

“i have!” Stretch grumbled. “i never said i was good at it!” His death grip on Edge slowly eased and he cautiously pushed upright, only for his skates to tip, leaving him alternately knock-kneed and bowlegged. “i was practically grown when blue and i moved to snowdin and i was working three jobs for a while. by the time we were able to give it a shot, i tried it about long enough for half of the town to give a good attempt at running me over and then i went to warm the bench. felt like i was nothing but bruises for days.”

It was a strange experience to realize his own childhood had offered him something that Stretch never had. Knowing how to skate in Underfell’s Snowdin was less about enjoyment and more to navigate more of the complex traps in the forest, but Edge did know how. He helped Stretch get to the glossy ice of the lake, wincing as he clomped on it as if he’d grown hooves instead of attached slim metal blades to his feet.

He pointedly did not smile at his husband’s expression of gloom. His eye lights were firmly planted downward, and Edge said, “All right, to begin with, look at me, not at your feet.”

That only got him a scowl. “if i don’t look at my feet, i don’t know where they are!”

“They are where they always are,” Edge retorted, “at the ends of your legs. Look at me.”

Stretch jerked his chin up and the abrupt motion was almost enough to send him sprawling. Only Edge’s firm grip on his upper arms kept him upright and he locked his fearful gaze onto Edge’s eye lights. Edge waited, holding on, until his panicked breathing slowly eased. 

“Rus, I won’t let you fall,” Edge told him. A reckless promise and not one he was sure he could keep, but he was going to try. With careful deliberateness, he slid his hands down Stretch’s arms until their hands were clasped together. “Hold on to me.”

That didn’t seem to be a problem. Stretch’s hands tightened fiercely, and he nodded jerkily, his sockets widening as Edge slowly shifted his own feet until he was gliding backwards and pulling Stretch along. His grip was amazingly strong, Edge thought ruefully, his hands were going numb even through the layers of both their thick gloves. 

But the tiny pain was worth it, watching the fear on his husband’s face slowly turn into cautious wonder. Never mind that there were children skating easily past them, never mind that at this speed it would take them an hour to circle the lake even once. The only thing that mattered was keeping up that careful glide, watching as Stretch awkwardly shuffled his feet as he tried to move on his own, less skating than trying to walk on the thin blades, but it was a start. 

There was a flush of color to Stretch’s cheek bones, as much from the chill as from excitement, but his grip slowly loosened, and Edge only wished he could kiss that smiling mouth as Stretch began, “hey, i’m actually doing—awk!”

They might have made it all the way around the shoreline if it weren’t for the child that crashed into Stretch’s long legs. The two amateurs grappled together, each trying to keep their balance and failing, and Edge only had time to turn the wild flailing into a controlled fall, three of them heading downward in a jumble. 

Edge’s breath whuffed out of him as he first hit the slippery ice and then Stretch hit him, landed right on top of him. Stretch’s normally lovely body seemed to be made of all angles and elbows, every one of them trying to give Edge a good jab in the ribs. 

It took him a minute to figure out the tangle of their limbs, and icy dampness was already seeping through his pants by the time he straightened them around. Stretch was no help at all, giggling helplessly, and the best he could manage was to keep his skate blades away from anything important. 

The interloper who’d caused the whole thing scrambled to her feet with a squeaky apology, her long ears flat to her skull as she fled clumsily across the ice. 

Stretch watched her go before turning to offer Edge a lopsided grin. “won’t let me fall, huh?”

“To be fair, I didn’t let you fall, so much as I broke it.” Edge leaned up on his elbows to give him a quick, chilly kiss. “All right, did you want to get cocoa now?”

To his surprise, Stretch hesitated and shook his head. “actually, can we try again? i was just getting a feel for it, maybe i can actually do this.” That sweet, shy smile begged for another kiss and Edge took it, ignoring those who skated past them, never noticing any rolled eyes or indulgent smiles. 

When Edge drew away, the hectic flush in Stretch’s cheeks was brighter, his eye lights the warmest thing in sight.

“Come on,” Edge carefully stood, settling his own balance before helping Stretch. Once he was no longer careening like a drunken sailor, Edge took his hands and pushed off, pulling Stretch carefully along. 

The next time they fell, Stretch was the one on the bottom and his laughter was all the louder, carrying through the clear, chill air and joining the cheer of the others as Monsters skated around them, a cacophony of joy within a winter day. 

-finis-


	3. Resting Grinch Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Searching for Santa Claus in his natural habitat. A shopping mall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Santa

* * *

The mall was decorated with the kind of manic intensity, every tree bespeckled with lights and oversized ornaments. The traffic barriers were covered in red and white stripes, and bell ringers were at every door, clanging away as they offered holiday guilt to any passersby. 

A single step through the doorways, mostly pushed inside by the crowd from behind, only doubled the effect. Trees, garlands, lights. Wreaths fasten upon every wall and door. From overhead came music, cheerful carols pumped through the speakers with jingling intensity, loudly cajoling any listeners to enjoy the season with occasional interruptions to announce sales and to call the parents of a lost child.

In the center plaza was a winter wonderland of sparkling foam and plastic icicles, with a roped-off path leading towards the facade of gingerbread house. On a dais, spectacularly grand for a humble cookie cottage, was a large throne, the sturdiest item in the collection, well able to bear the weight of the large, horned Santa who was firmly sat in its luxurious depths. Children, both Humans and Monster, stood between decorative ropes, following the maze that would lead them to the bearer of gifts. 

Edge kept far to the outskirts, standing next to a large support beam that was surrounded by poinsettias. Close enough to watch and assist if necessary, but far enough to keep out of the way. He’d helped plan the event, but for running it, he was more than happy to delegate.

The Trick or Treating event in October had been such a rousing success that Public Relations was hoping to repeat it for the Holiday season. It was a more delicate operation as Humans could be very touchy about sharing what they considered to be their holiday, and Jeff turned out to be very useful in that capacity, carefully checking ideas and keeping any religious aspects away from what should be a joyous time. With all the children and their parents carefully screened along with plenty of extra security, hopes were high that it would go off without a hitch.

If he were honest, Edge could admit he would have preferred to come alone, just in case anything did happen. 

But that was about as likely as all the stores suddenly offering free gift wrapping, and he’d kept his opinion to himself, driving over with Stretch bouncing happily next to him, a headband with antlers perched firmly atop his skull and wearing a sweater emblazoned with sleighs and reindeer.

He’d lost Stretch almost immediately in the swirling torrent of holiday shoppers, and while it was perhaps better to have him away from the main festivities, it wasn’t helping Edge’s already roused anxiety to think of him out there alone with crowds of angry Humans demanding the best sale prices for their gifts.

It was good that his self-control didn’t allow any of that to appear on his face. The children in the line, Humans and Monsters alike, already seemed somewhat anxious themselves, staring wide-eyed at the decorations and the hubbub around them. Add in the fact that a large, boisterous and for many of them, unusual Santa was ho ho-ing for all he was worth directly in front of them, it was a wonder none of them were crying from the excitement. 

The wall of parents and teachers that ran down both sides of the line surely helped with that. And the fact that all of the security were either dressed discreetly in plain clothes or a few of them donning the costume of Elves, circulating the crowd as they kept an eye and a pointed ear out for threats. 

It would forever be a disappointment that his brother had declined a costume.

Jeff wasn’t so lucky. He was dressed up in green tights and rosy painted cheeks, camera in hand to take pictures of each child, plus any candids to add to the press release. The entire event had been planned down to the last candy cane; parents each filling out a sheet with their child’s name and a number of possible gifts for Santa to bring for an eager little one. 

Thus far, the line was moving well and from what Edge could see, each child was delighted to tear away the wrapping paper to find something they’d been wishing for. Asgore was in his prime, jolly and laughing as a proper Santa should and even the weary parents were smiling. A rousing success, all the way around. 

“looks like it’s going well.” Edge glanced over to see Stretch had managed to sneak up next to him, shopping bags in hand. He didn’t, quite, put it past Stretch to have shortcutted over, but when Edge slid an arm around him and tugged, he willingly moved to stand on the other side, next to the support beam and away from the jostling crowd. That alone was enough to drop his anxiety a notch, nearly two.

“Yes,” Edge agreed. “A success all around; it’ll be good PR, and I believe the children and Santa are enjoying themselves.” He watched as Asgore spoke with another Human child, her eyes wide as he handed her a gift. Her delight as she tore into the package to reveal a set of Legos was dutifully recorded by Jeff, and she nearly fell from Asgore’s knee as she ran to her parents, prize in hand. 

There was an odd expression on Stretch’s face, one that Edge couldn’t place. He shifted his arm, squeezing gently. 

“Are you all right?” Edge asked low. “I know you aren’t fond of Asgore.” Perhaps he was taking issue to seeing the King he disliked so around so many children. But Stretch only looked at him in surprise.

“huh?” Stretch blinked, then shook his head. “no, it’s not that. it’s just...in underswap, santa didn’t bring presents on gyftsmas day. it was mrs claus. so she’d’ve be the one in the chair, asking the kiddos what they want for gyftmas.”

“ _Mrs_ Claus,” Edge repeated, surprised. It was the first he’d heard of this, Blue hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort on their first Gyftmas or any since. But then, they’d been adults, all of them exchanging gifts with each other and there was no expectation of any mythical beings taking the time to wander down the chimney to join the festivities.

“well, yeah,” Stretch smiled, his gaze seemed turned inward. “her husband was too busy in the workshop to be taking time off, so she was always supposed to be keeping tabs on you, making sure you were good. kids were always told to be kind around the holidays because you never knew when mrs claus was around, watching for good deeds.”

He shifted to lay his head on Edge’s shoulder, cheek bone resting on the padding of his more sedate sweater. “then on Christmas eve, she’d come and leave cookies and milk, and put your presents under the tree.”

“Mrs Claus left cookies and milk for you?”

“of course!” Stretch said, almost scornfully, “she was an expert baker! i always thought it was weird you guys left out cookies for santa when he’s got elves baking away in the kitchen with her and the rest of them working in the toy workshop with him.” He shrugged, shoulder jostling against Edge’s. “i’ve gotten used to you weirdos and your santa.”

“I never knew that,” Edge said softly. 

“it’s not a big deal,” Stretch said, but Edge couldn’t help wondering. “i mean, it’s not really that different. it’s like everything else in this world; a little bit off, tipped kinda sideways. most of the time, i think it makes it easier, you know? like if it was too similar, it would make it harder. around gyftmas, it gets weird, but not in a bad way.” Stretch nodded at the crowd. “besides, they’re happy.”

They were. The line was dwindling and once they were done, there were activities planned for the children, games and snacks, along with one event that Edge suspected his husband might enjoy. Toriel was there now, setting out trays of sugar cookies cut out into the shapes of stockings and trees and reindeer along with bottles of colorful icing. 

Mrs Claus might not provide the gifts here, but she did have cookies well in hand. 

“hey,” Stretch stood up straight, rising up on his toes to look even higher over the crowd. “there’s sans...wait, is that your brother??”

The glee in Stretch’s voice made Edge turn, searching through the crowd and finally he caught sight of Red and Sans standing together on the other side of the gingerbread wonderland. They were in plain clothes and he knew both of them had walkie talkies to communicate with the rest of the security team. But Sans had a bright red Santa hat perched on his head, the point falling lazily to the side with a tiny jangling bell at on the pom pom. 

And Red…

He might well never know who it was that coaxed Red into donning a hat of his own, nor did he know where they’d found such a hat. It had wide red and black stripes with black leather trim and metal spikes studding the band. Extra spikes were on the ball at the end, turning it more into an impromptu flail than a pom pom. 

A ferocious scowl completed the look, for all the world like Santa’s grumpiest elf, watching over the children with a fierce, crimson gaze. 

Edge dragged his eye lights away before he was caught staring, not bothering to reach for his phone. No doubt Sans and Stretch would get plenty of photographic evidence, skillfully hidden from all attempts to purge them. 

Instead, he looked at the children again, at Asgore, who was ho ho-ing as they all sang a round of Jingle Bells with far more enthusiasm than skill. Here at a shopping mall, surrounded by garish decorations, Monsters and Humans were standing together peacefully as they watched all their children playing. Edge’s husband was standing at his side and his brother was wearing a Santa hat. 

Truly it was a Gyftmas miracle. 

-finis-


	4. In a Twinkling (kustard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Day 5 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Decorating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is Kustard for a change of pace and I don’t think the word ‘cheer’ quite applies. Melancholy would be more appropriate and a reminder that growing up in Underfell didn’t make for much of a childhood.
> 
> Gets a little mature by the end.

* * *

Red’s front door was almost always locked; wasn’t much point in ever unlocking it, not when the two main occupants of the place didn’t need to use it. Sometimes Sans wondered if being able to shortcut was robbing him of a prime opportunity to gauge his relationship with Red, cause seriously, why bother giving him a key? 

Thinking about that too long would give him indigestion in the guts he didn’t have and maybe he should take the fact that Red didn’t shove a bone through his socket whenever he shortcutted in as a sign of...well, something, anyway.

He always stuck to the doormat when he shortcutted in, not because he cared about tracking in anything on Red’s already dubious carpet but because it made it easier to find his damn shoes when they weren’t buried in whatever wreckage Red had scattered around. Today was about the same as any, bare walls except for the occasional hole through the drywall, a coffee table that was probably scrounged from the side of the road, covered in dirty dishes and fast food wrappers. It was sat in front of a swayback sofa that was currently occupied by everyone who actually lived in this shithole. Namely, Red and his damn cat. 

Red didn’t even look at him. His head was tipped back on the sofa arm, his sockets closed, but only an idiot would think he was asleep. Sans might be a fool and proved it every time he came here, but idiot was a title he hadn’t earned. Not yet, anyway.

“nice to see you’ve done up the place for the holiday,” Sans said, prying off one of his snowy shoes with the toes of his other foot. He kicked it off, repeating the process on the other side even as he hissed at the cold against his bare bones. “they got those charlie brown trees on clearance down at the pharmacy in town.”

“don’ need a fucking tree.”

That made Sans hesitate. The way Red’s words slurred together was telling, a slurry of consonants in search of a vowel. That damn cat was sitting curled into a loaf on Red’s lap, purring rustily. Red could call it any name he liked, but in Sans’s mind it would always be that damn cat. Had its motor running pretty good right now, Sans could hear it purring from way over here.The cat opened one yellow eye, glaring at him balefully, daring him to try to unseat it. 

Yeah, it was way too early to try anything like that. If this was gonna end without broken furniture, then Red would push the cat off his lap himself, and if it wasn’t, eh, Sans was fine with having a furry little hostage sitting between them. Gave him a few more seconds to dodge.

He sat on the opposite side of the sofa instead, sprawling out so his foot barely touched Red’s ankle. Not to play footsie, nah, he didn’t try any fancy footwork. But he left it there, like a conduit between them as he asked lightly, “not one of santa’s biggest fans, huh.”

Red snorted loudly. He shifted, rummaging next to him and pulled out a whiskey bottle from the couch cushions like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. The loud sloshing was a warning of an awful lot of empty space in it. “never met the guy. only nobles got to have a gyftmas in underfell. ain’t much point for anyone else. when you don’t got any food or a bed, you ain’t putting up lights.” He took a long pull off the bottle and Sans could see the flow of it underneath his jaw, guzzled so fast that a few drops splashed down before his magic could incorporate it. 

He lifted the bottle in offering to Sans and he took it, but only drank a small swallow. What he wanted more was to keep the bottle until Red demanded it back. Could be immediately, sometimes it was. This time, Red only slumped back against the sofa arm again, gazing pensively up at the ceiling. “but there was this one time…”

His hand never paused in its stroking, the damn cat purring so loudly Sans had to strain to hear Red. “we were still living in new home in those days, mostly. back then, we didn’t go any further than hotland and paps hated that place, whined and bitched so much i usually went there alone. so we hung around town together, kept in the alleys and shit.” Red blinked slowly, once, and the soft diffusion of his eye lights seemed less from the booze than memory taking over. “this’s before we found the dump, even. shit got a little better, then. less havin’ to steal and more’n sellin’ the junk i could fix up. i ain’t no engineer but i don’t do too bad--”

It was damn hard not to prompt him to go back to ‘this one time’, but Sans was afraid to speak. One word and he might break the spell, get this memory stuffed back into the overflowing closet of Red’s mind, and he’d bet hard G that Red would never bring this up again, no matter how much he drank. He sat, statue-still, listening to Red ramble and the damn cat’s engine revving until he thought he’d lose his mind. He almost missed it when Red did wander back, words slipping over his drifting thoughts until they jolted him back. 

“it was cold that day and i left paps bundled up with all the blankets in one of our better hidey holes. figured i’d try to find us somethin’ to eat. most places threw away at least some food at the end of the night, and if ya were quick enough, you could get your share. i was on the main walkway, didn’t usually use it, but it was so damn cold even the beggars were takin’ the night off. and that’s when i walked past it. muffet’s bakery.” He sounded dreamy and far away, lost in the cloudy memories of childhood. “she had these lights up. i’d never seen anythin like ‘em before, tiny and twinkling, like stars are supposed t’ be. they’d painted the front window to look like snowflakes were fallin, only any snow i’d seen never looked like that, big snowflakes with patterns i never dreamed of. and right up front in these trays were piles and piles of gingerbread cookies. every one of ‘em was decorated different, weren’t two alike in the whole pile and there musta been a hundred, two hundred of those fuckin things, sitting there behind the glass and fake snowflakes. i thought i could even smell ‘em, was drooling on my damn shoes, lookin’ at those things.”

“what did you do?” Sans’s voice sounded strange, too loud, wrong in the midst of the past. 

It was enough to yank Red back to the present. He snorted loudly, slanting Sans a look. “what the fuck could i do? i threw a fucking brick thru the window, grabbed some cookies, and ran.” He sank back again, scratching the cat under its chin maybe a little too hard, but it only purred on. “wasn’t worth it; we were on the move for weeks after that, couldn’t hardly stop to sleep. muffet almost got paps once, and after that, i took him to waterfall. wasn’t worth it.”

He trailed off moodily, staring empty-eyed at the ceiling, but Sans wasn’t entirely convinced, thinking back on a coupla faded memories of his own. “how did they taste?”

That got him a startled look. “what?”

“the cookies. how did they taste?”

Red’s mouth worked for a moment, sharp teeth gnashing, and here was the part where he might say something awful, that volcano of anger in his soul would erupt. He’d spew out a lava flow of bitterness and cruelty, and Sans’s would have to decide if he was going to take it or if he was gonna hang up his hoodie for the night.

Instead, Red threw back his head and laughed, his entire body quaking with it. “they were the best fucking cookies i ever ate!”

That thrashing laughter was enough for the cat. He hopped off Red’s lap, giving both of them a snooty look before wandering off to see if any kind elf left him some tuna in his dish. An empty lap was a terrible thing to waste and Sans crawled into Red’s, straddling him.

“know somethin?” Sans murmured, draping both arms around Red’s neck. Hands settled on his hips, fingertips pricking sharp even through his shorts. “sounds to me like you just need some better experiences with decorations.”

Later, when he was riding Red and trying to keep his balance with both hands tied behind his back with a shiny strand of garland, Sans was the one snarling and swearing. The Santa hat perched crookedly on his skull was making him sweat, his knees were aching, and Red only lay there, grinning up at him and letting him do all the damn work.

“come on, harder,” Sans panted, “get your elf on my shelf.”

Red laughed, rough and gleeful, and he wasn’t thinking of any awfulness from the dregs of childhood when he panted out, “that don’t even make any fucking sense!”

“harder!” Sans snapped, and the glitter in Red’s eye lights as he did, bright and fierce and wild, was better than any shitty light on any tree. 

-finis-


	5. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day #6 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Cocoa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Spicyhoney, but the melancholy stuck around a bit. It’s okay, these boys are always here for each other!

* * *

The cold from the step Stretch sat on came through his track pants almost instantly, making him hiss softly around the cigarette he was lighting. One of those cigarettes that he was supposed to have quit, yeah, right, and he blew out a stream of smoke that faded into the snowflakes.

Watching the falling snow always made him feel a little melancholy which was probably half the reason he was doing it. Stupid, sure, and he’d probably regret it later, but sometimes he had the urge to embrace his misery, hold onto it like a selfish kid refusing to share their toys. 

Fat, puffy flakes were falling, blotting out the entire neighborhood, dimming the street lamps and windows lit with Gyftmas lights. Snowfall always brought a hush with it and at this hour, there were no shouting kids, no distractions to tear through the silence. There was nothing but the concrete stairs beneath him and the taste of tar and nicotine. If he closed his sockets, he could almost be in Snowdin again. A teleportation of the mind rather than the body, lost in a memory that echoed the constantly falling snow. 

It hadn’t been all bad, not all of it, that came later, and even if it _seemed_ like an eternity, from the right point of view the bad stuff only happened over a couple of days. That left him years of memories; of walking into their house for the first time, of Blue delightedly putting up Gyftmas lights and gabbling excitedly that they finally had a chimney for Mrs Claus to come down. No, not all bad, not even close, only some of it, and--

“Here. Give your hands something else to do.”

Stretch startled, almost fumbling the butt that had been smoldering dangerously close to his fingers. He hadn’t even heard the door opening and closing, lost in his own mind. Edge was crouched next to him, holding out a steaming cup. 

Guiltily, he doused the cigarette in the snow, not that Edge said anything. He only waited patiently, still holding out that cup. It turned out to be hot cocoa and Stretch took it gratefully, held the warmed mug in both hands and let the heat sink into his chilled bones. He took a sip; it was very hot and rich, a bittersweet delight on his tongue. Probably made with real chocolate, no sad dusting of cocoa powder, not for his baby, and thick cream, and it warmed him all the way down to his chilly tailbone.

Edge dusted the light layer of snow off the step and sat next to him, his own cup in hand. He didn’t speak; there was nothing but tiny, whispery sips and the snow piling up around them.

But having Edge there was enough to ground him in the now, keeping his thoughts from wandering backwards. The warm line of his body pressed against Stretch, from his shoulder down to their femurs, a solid sense of _there_. 

The amount of marshmallows in his cocoa was another sure sign, Blue never gave him so many. Stretch smiled, scooping out one of the melty bits with the tip of his tongue. It dissolved quickly in his mouth, a tiny sweetness mingled with the slightly bitter chocolate. 

“thanks,” Stretch murmured. He reached over blindly and took Edge’s gloved hand in his own, squeezing. 

He squeezed back, looking out at the snow, “You’re welcome.”

They sat together drinking their cocoa, watching the snow fall, and there was nowhere else in all the worlds that Stretch would rather be. 

-finis-


	6. Choo Choo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with Stretch is a learning experience in how to deal with at least a little disorder. 
> 
> Day #7 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Toys

* * *

Edge was accustomed to a certain amount of unexpected changes when he came home. Before Stretch, his house had been one of order, the placement of something as simple as a stack of coasters seriously considered. He’d learned to bend, somewhat, giving in to a little disorder and if he didn’t exactly love it, he did love Stretch and he was worth learning the lesson. 

On any given day, Stretch might have an idea start percolating and brewing, and eventually he’d end up pouring himself out a cupful of trouble. Like the time he’d calculated that the living room would have better acoustics if he moved the furniture in the room, without factoring in that people needed to be able to get around it and through doorways without climbing over. The best sound quality in the world couldn’t make up for having to squeeze behind a loveseat and hurdle an end table to get to the kitchen door. 

When it came to holiday decorations, Edge handled most of them. Stretch helped, of course, but Edge had a careful plan for everything, from a grid for the tree to allow the lights to reach maximum exposure to a careful alignment of garlands around the house to keep the ratio perfect. Stretch was permitted a certain amount of ridiculous ornaments and frankly, a touch too much mistletoe, but that at least had outside benefits. The same could not be said of the ‘tootin’ tooshie’ ornament of a reindeer’s ass lovingly hung from their tree.

His entire life before coming here, Edge had never decorated for Gyftmas and it was an admittedly greedy indulgence of his to do it now. So to have his plans changed while he was at work did not always settle well, especially not when it came like this. 

“What are you doing?” Edge asked tightly. His temper was firmly controlled but there would be no mistaking that he was not pleased. 

Then again, Stretch could play at blissful unaware with an astonishing amount of success. His grin was delighted, his eye lights bright as he stepped back and gave a dramatic wave around the living room. “check it out!”

The train set was a recent acquisition. The display at the store had charmed Edge with its tiny details, exquisitely painted and the meticulous work involved appealed to him greatly; cars and motorcycles were a familiar interest, but trains were new, and the small engine with its bright red trim looked very fine running around the track at the base of their tree. Which was exactly where it had been that morning when Edge went to work and was very much not now.

When Edge only looked at him and made no effort to ‘check it out’, Stretch’s grin faltered, only to rally into firmly back to the category of glee, “all right, i know what you’re going to say—"

“I highly doubt that.”

“—but listen first! okay, so, it only circled the tree, yeah?”

“As it was meant to.”

“boring, right? now it circles the whole room!” It certainly did. The train track which used to be a sedate circle beneath their tree now rose from beneath, following their walls in a winding path that laddered up nearly to the ceiling and then back down, circling the entire room before returning to its terminal. 

Stretch was very nearly glowing with his excitement, “and now it takes pictures! so here we’ll be on gyftmas morning and all those candid shots that get missed? your little choo choo can snap a bunch of shots and upload them right to the cloud for you.”

That was enough to give his interest a reluctant tweak. He liked getting plenty of photos of their family get-togethers, and the promise of more candid shots was tempting. 

Edge sighed. “Show me.”

Stretch beamed and darted over to crouch by the small engine. It didn’t look any different, whatever modifications Stretch made must have been very carefully done. As it always had before, it started chugging easily, following the new rise of the track.

“see, look?” Stretch scrambled over to him to show his phone and true to his word, pictures were appearing of the two of them, each from a slightly different angle as the train continued to climb. It was only after the train crested the highest part of the hill and started back down that disaster struck. Perhaps it had never been intended to go at that angle or perhaps whatever camera Stretch installed added too much weight. Whatever the cause, the little engine went faster and faster, pulling its small cars and caboose precariously behind it. Its wheels starting to screech even as it sped out of control, careening into a sharp curve and finally leaping the track. 

It crashed to the floor in a shattering of broken plastic and metal, the mangled caboose rolling across the carpet and coming to a rest by their feet. The two of them stood together frozen, staring at the remains of the train scattered across the floor.

“oh,” Stretch said blankly. “um. i… guess i didn’t take inertia into account, i should’ve—oh, shit!"

He broke off as the small engine suddenly burst into miniature flames, moving to snatch it up with his bare hands, hissing out, “ouch, ouch, ouch!!” as he carried it to the door and hastily cast the smoldering, twisted wreckage into the snow.

Edge hadn’t moved. He stood blinking slowly, taking in his newly scorched carpet and the leftover scraps of his train, bits of red plastic and the occasional wheel or two.

Behind him, Stretch let out an uneasy laugh, “okay, um, but this was only model 1.0! the next generation will be a lot better.”

“Considering the low bar is bursts into flames, I should hope so.”

He finally turned towards his husband and Stretch looked so woebegone and guilty he couldn’t help a reluctant chuckle. It was only a toy and one that could be replaced, _things_ would never be as important to him as Stretch. Edge sighed deeply as he pulled Stretch into his arms, tugging him in close. He came meekly, allowing Edge to carefully inspect his hands for any burns. 

“Next time, ask first,” Edge said sternly. Stretch nodded, wincing as Edge pressed lightly on one darkened spot on his finger. With care, Edge lifted his hand to his mouth and pressed a very soft kiss to that small burn. “Also, you should consider asking Santa for a fire extinguisher.”

“he’s probably already planning to bring me a six-pack,” Stretch muttered. “i’m so sorry, babe, this was supposed to be a surprise.”

Edge switched his kisses to his mouth instead, soft and sweet, murmuring with no little amusement, “At least that was a success. I was very surprised.”

That only made Stretch pull away with a scowl, his chin lifting stubbornly as his eye lights took on a certain familiar gleam. “no, a _nice_ surprise. i can fix this, you wait, it’ll be ready for gyftmas.” 

He wriggled free and Edge let him, after stealing a last quick kiss. He knew better than to interfere with inspiration. Hastily, Stretch gathered up the broken scraps, snatching up the hem of his shirt and using it as a pouch to carry it all. In no time he had every scrap that was left and down to the basement he went, his untied shoes heavy on the stairs as he clomped down to his lab.

Edge only shook his head and let him go, though he did wonder if perhaps that gift from ‘Santa’ might need to come early. 

In the meantime, it seemed as if the furniture might need to be rearranged after all, with one of the armchairs set right on top of that scorch mark. It might not do much for the acoustics, but in this case, it was certainly a necessary change.

Living with Stretch, he was certainly learning to be flexible in unexpected ways. 

Still, Edge found he was looking forward to seeing train design 2.0, especially if Stretch worked out the whole ‘bursting into flames’ problem. After all, he only had two armchairs he could move. 

-finis-


	7. All I Want For Kiss-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistletoe is the best as far as Stretch is concerned. Edge might have other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #8 of the 12 Days of Cheer: mistletoe

* * *

As far as Stretch was concerned, mistletoe was the best thing Humans ever added on to the holidays. An invitation to steal a kiss from the person he loved, hell to the yes, hand over that clipboard and sign him up. 

Even better, Edge was perfectly happy giving those kisses, too. Sure, he’d vetoed the quantity of mistletoe in their house down to what he called ‘reasonable levels’ and not the ‘chaotic insanity’ that Stretch wanted, but whatever, the point was, it was up there, lying in wait for the many smooches to come.

Or had been, until today. 

Today was Edge’s day off and somehow, he’d managed to skirt every single one of Stretch’s kiss ambushes. The first time, Stretch brushed it off. Yeah, so what if he came out of the opposite kitchen door that Stretch was expecting, like coming in from the wrong direction wasn’t _his_ gag, thank you. 

And okay, yeah, his phone chiming with a message distracting him the second time was a little suspicious, especially since it seemed to be a robo-text from some Santa service asking him if he’d been a good boy this year. 

The third time though, that was deliberate. Hard to think otherwise when he knew Edge was in the basement doing laundry and he’d been hovering outside the door in ambush, the magical kissing foliage positioned overhead, mouth already in a half-pucker.

And then the charming, handsome sneaky bastard who was his husband casually came in through the front door like it ain’t no thing. Which meant he’d totally missed seeing Edge squirming his way out of one of the small basement windows, just so that he could be a shit and there was no mistaking the smugness glimmering in his eye lights with an unspoken message that said, ‘bring it.’

That, friends and neighbors, was a declaration of war. 

Stretch’s first tactic was to up the ratio of mistletoe. Edge was in the kitchen, getting on with his holiday cookie-fying duties, so Stretch took the liberty of tacking more mistletoe around the room. When he was done, the bannisters, the doorways, the windows, even the ceiling was dangling with it and hey, if Edge didn’t want chaotic insanity, he should have been making with the canoodling. 

There was no telling what door Edge might come out of, so Stretch didn’t pick one. Instead, he stood at the ready, a runner in position at the starting line, his magic drawn up and prepared to shortcut him directly to the right door. All he had to do was wait. 

“Can I help you with something?”

Okay, he was not ready for that. Stretch lifted his head to see Edge looking down at him from above, leaning against the second-floor bannister with his chin propped on one hand and oh, Stretch needed to kiss that smirk off that face, it was a moral imperative.

“i’m going to get you,” Stretch told him. It might well be the most fervent promise he’d ever made.

Edge’s eye lights gleamed. “Sweetheart, I’ll love seeing you try.”

Yeah, well, ‘try’ was about as good as it got. The rest of the day Stretch spent trying to catch him out and every damn time he was just a second too late. A dozen shortcuts, another dozen times of desperately dashing out of a closet or from behind a door, or once, scrambling out from under the bed, and yet, Edge always managed to ghost out of his reach into the other room. Into the kitchen, the bedroom, out the front or back door. Chasing him into a different room in an attempt to herd him under another sprig would be missing the point and besides, the living room was the only place that was crawling with the mistletoe. Stretch wasn’t reduced to hammering it all over the kitchen just yet. Damned if he wasn’t tempted, though. 

In the end, Edge was simply too good for him, as always. Stretch gave up right around the time the sun started to go down and he decided he didn’t want to try tripping over his feet in the dark in yet another thwarted attempt to catch Edge in the garage. He flopped down on the sofa, arm over his sockets and trying not to sulk about all the lost kiss opportunities that had vanished along with the sun. He liked a good game as much as the next person, but this wasn’t one he felt like playing anymore, except Edge didn’t get playful like this very often, so what could he do, he--

“Gotcha.”

Stretch lifted his arm, cracking open an eye socket and peered out. Edge was kneeling next to the sofa, a faint smile on his face. He was holding a sprig of mistletoe over his head, glossy green against red silk.

“you’re not gonna run away if i sit up, are you?” Stretch asked suspiciously. “cause my get up and go has gotten up and went bye bye.”

That smile widened, as close to a grin as Edge ever got. “No. I’m afraid all those missed kisses are starting to pile up. I’m very concerned that if I don’t start sharing them, they might go to waste.”

“wouldn’t that be a shame,” Stretch quickly sat up and went all in with the grabby hands. The first kiss was almost too hard, bordering on desperate, pouring out the frustration of the day into the fierce press of their mouths. Edge gave it back just as much, a soft moan caught between them as he let Stretch pull him down to the sofa, both of them cuddling together as they kissed. 

Eventually, it gentled, a soft, gloved hand cupping Stretch’s face as Edge scattered kisses over it, his cheek bones, his jaw, a soft touch against his sockets before he took his mouth again. By the time Stretch drew back he was panting, blinking hazily at Edge who only looked back at him and there was no challenge in his eye lights now, only heady warmth. There was a bloom of color in his cheek bones, ruddy roses that begged for kisses of their own, and he was breathing heavily, his tongue caught lightly between his teeth.

“what happened to the mistletoe,” Stretch asked, words blurring into each other. He felt dazed, drugged, only wanted more. 

“Who needs mistletoe?” Edge told him roughly, and drew him back down. 

-finis-


	8. Cookies and Crumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day #9 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been sick the past few days so I might start falling behind here, ah, well. The fun is in the attempt!

* * *

The idea for a double date of sorts had been Edge’s, but Stretch was enthusiastic about it almost immediately.

Everything seemed busier during the holidays, Humans and Monsters alike bustling, and too often Edge found he was staying at the Embassy later than he meant, bringing work home with him as well. Stretch never complained, but that didn’t mean Edge wasn’t well aware of his own failings, and that his husband was spending far too much time on his own in their house. The buses were overflowing this time of year and Stretch was more reluctant to head into town when it was crowded with surly shoppers. The neighborhood children were also still in school, and Edge did not miss that Stretch’s delight at seeing him walk through the door was tinged with relief. 

It didn’t help that the Public Relations department was also very busy during December, taking as much advantage of the holiday cheer as they could, and they planned many events, all of which Jeff needed to attend. 

What it all meant was that the only gift Stretch had gotten so far this holiday was one of being alone and Edge wasn’t so focused on the work pouring in that he couldn’t see the melancholy settling in. That was a present that needed returned with haste, with or without the receipt, and that was when he began to plan. 

A little cookie decorating party with Jeff and Antwan seemed like the perfect solution. Festive, fun, and in his experience, cookies could build a tasty a bridge through all types of sorrow and loneliness. 

He’d been surprised when Stretch hesitantly asked if he could invite Blue, as if he was worried that Edge would object. As though he ever would; whatever issues he might have with Stretch’s brother tended to pale next to what Red could come up with at any given moment. That led to inviting Papyrus and Sans, and eventually, he’d been forced to offer to Red simply in the spirit of not leaving him out, but it was no surprise he hadn’t come. His brother had given him a look of nearly injurious disappointment, shaking his head and muttering beneath his breath about liabilities. 

Movie nights were one thing, it seemed. Sugary arts and crafts entirely another. 

Edge spent the day before making the cookies, plain sugar cookies, rolled out and cut into a variety of shapes. He’d made the royal icing as well, added the food coloring and poured it into small squeeze bottles. Little bowls and jars of decorations were scattered over the table, colored sugar and a rainbow variety of chocolate sprinkles for the cookie artists. 

All of whom were giggling together like children. Stretch’s cookies were somewhat messier, icing colors muddling together with a kaleidoscope of candy decorations and Jeff’s more cautiously neat; the stripes in his stocking cookie were careful and precise, bedazzled with silver jimmies.

Blue’s cookies were very meticulous, except where his brother had slyly stuck a gumdrop or cinnamon candy when he wasn’t looking and his frequent indignant cries of ‘Papy!’ were always couched with his own laughter. 

Papyrus...well. He was very intent, piping icing furiously with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, piling on the candies and sprinkles with wild abandonment. Perhaps those cookies could be a gift for Undyne. 

It was Stretch and Jeff that held most of his attention. Both of them had smears of icing here and there. A blotch of bright green underneath one of Stretch’s sockets and red on one cheekbone. Jeff had a smear of yellow on his forehead that traveled all the way into his hair. Neither of them noticed; they worked as one, reaching over each other for icing bottles or the dish of star-shaped sprinkles. 

They were both flushed with happiness, each sparkling in their own way, and Edge only wanted to watch for as long as it lasted. 

“Here.”

Edge glanced at Antwan who was holding out a steaming mug. He took it, inhaling deeply of the spices and velvet purple. Mulled wine, he realized, and took a sip, rolling it over his tongue. “That’s very good. Where were you hiding that away?”

Antwan shrugged. “I brought over a thermos. You’re hard to surprise.” He nodded over at the others. “They all seem happy.”

“They do.” That happiness was all Edge wanted from this. Cookies were merely a side effect. 

Antwan’s expression was soft, watching them, his gaze lingering on Jeff, and Edge suddenly realized how rarely Antwan looked that way. He was quick with a laugh and biting sarcasm, he and Stretch bantered like the hens gabbling together in their backyard. But it wasn’t often that he looked so indulgent, almost vulnerable. He’d finally let Jeff into his closely-guarded heart. It was a good look on him. 

Edge wondered at his own expressions, whenever he looked at Stretch. 

As if he’d heard Edge thinking his name, Stretch looked up, his grin widening. “hey over there, we don’t need a foreman. you guys need to get over here to help.”

“Yes, sir,” Edge murmured and Stretch snorted. 

“as if. okay, _captain_ , you’re on cookie duty, starting now.”

Edge went to him, setting down the mug as he sat next to his husband, already anticipating that Stretch would steal a sip, the same way he stole a quick kiss on Edge’s cheek bone. From the faint stickiness left behind, Edge assumed he now had a matching frosting smear of his own. No matter. There was no sign of that incipient melancholy now, only warm delight. 

Antwan hung back, holding up his thermos, “Anyone else want a drink?”

“that better be whiskey.”

As one, they turned to the kitchen door to see Red glowering his way in with a grinning Sans at his heels. He was wearing that hat, _the_ Santa hat, and Edge was morbidly curious what blackmail Sans had on Red for it to keep making an appearance. Perhaps it was best not to know; some things could never be unlearned.

“It’s alcohol,” Antwan shrugged

“close enough.”

More mugs were shared, the kitchen cozily warm as they crowded around the table. Antwan set aside his empty thermos to sit next to Jeff as Edge selected a cookie in the shape of a sled and was immediately forced to defend it from a coup as Stretch sneakily attempted to blob on purple icing. Blue was giggling as Papyrus loudly scolded Sans for not only stealing a cookie but for disgracefully dipping it into his mug, wine was not an appropriate beverage for that even if it was warm, have some standards!

Edge couldn’t help glancing at his brother out of the corner of his socket at where he was leaning against the counter, watching them all. All his people gathered together, laughing and squabbling as they decorated cookies. He couldn’t name the fleeting emotion that crossed Red’s face, almost immediately hidden beneath his sharp grin before he took a loud slurp from his mug. But he thought it might be something like contentment. He hoped it was. 

“c’mon, edgelord, you’re falling behind,” Stretch nudged him with an elbow. “i’ve already got four done!”

“It’s not a race,” Edge told him tartly, then added, lower, “but I’d bet I can beat you.” Stretch’s eye lights gleamed, bright with glee and every time Edge thought he couldn’t love him more, he was proven wrong. Hopefully he always would. 

“you’re on! most cookies finished wins, and the loser has to clean up!”

Immediately the conversation swelled, arguments of what constituted a properly decorated cookie breaking out, and Edge swiftly began piping, not really caring who won. 

Shared happiness was the real goal and that was a cookie unlikely to crumble.

-finis-


	9. Behind Enemy Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day #10 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Snowball Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm battling bronchitis and I am not happy about it, so I needed some fluffy humor. Enjoy!

* * *

The farmer’s market was crowded, everyone out buying up what they would need for the looming holiday and Edge didn’t linger, quickly purchasing his regular order and fighting his way back out through the crowds only to get stuck in the traffic back home. 

His attempt at missing the masses by going in as early as possible were readily thwarted, but he couldn’t be too irritated about it. By the time he got home, Stretch should be awake, and Edge had no other plans today than to spend time with him. It was enough to keep his mood amicable even with the busy roads, until he returned to the safety of New New Home and his own driveway. 

His arms were loaded with bags as Edge went up the sidewalk, enough that he didn’t noticed the basket until he accidentally kicked it. Edge paused, looking over the celery to gaze narrowly at what was on his porch. 

It was gaily decorated with a bright, messily tied ribbon and a note fastened to the handle that contained only two words, written in familiar handwriting. 

_**Arm Yourself** _

The basket was filled with snowballs, each one so perfectly rounded that Edge suspected they’d been somehow mass produced. Without moving, he flicked his gaze to the yard, scanning along trees and shrubs…ah. There. A telltale giggle, followed by several inefficiently loud attempts at hushing.

The enemy was in sight and they held the advantage. 

With effortless nonchalance, Edge opened the door and as he stepped in, he could hear a muted chorus of disappointed groans. But before they could be sighed away, he quickly dropped the groceries and darted back out, grabbing the basket as he flung himself off the porch to crouch behind the precarious protection of the fence. 

He could hear a rallying cry, laughter, and footsteps coming through the snow. Edge held his position, waiting blindly, listening as they came closer, closer…

Now. 

Ammo in hand, Edge rose and sent the first snowball at the closest child. His eyes widened and his wounded yelp filled the air as it splattered into his coat-padded chest. Edge didn’t pause to celebrate, already hurling a second, a third, and children were falling beneath the hail, each trying desperately to send a volley of their own snowballs. Every one was easily dodged or simply fell short and soon Edge stood triumphant over his fallen enemy, the neighborhood children groaning as they struggled back to their feet. 

Edge scanned the yard, every sense extended, but there were no other opponents in sight, hardly unexpected when your quarry could shortcut. He listened warily, ignoring the childish groans around him, for the telltale pop of teleportation. 

“forget someone, baby love?”

He whirled, snowball in hand, but it was too late. A puff of soft whiteness caught him directly in the face and Edge sputtered, clawing snow out of his eye sockets to glare at his grinning husband…who was high in the air, nearly hidden behind a tree trunk as he sat on a large branch, his long legs dangling. 

“last man standing wins!” Stretch called and the children let out a somewhat bedraggled cheer. 

“Is that so?” Edge asked silkily. 

Stretch’s grin faltered a bit, fading, but before it could vanish entirely, it was wiped out in a soft _paft!_ of snowy whiteness. Stretch spluttered loudly and nearly fell from his perch, a hasty shortcut taking him safely down to the ground. He scrubbed away the wet snow, looking in disbelief as Jeff stood up from where he was crouched behind the car, grinning brightly. 

As it turned out, having Jeff tag along with him to the market was coming in handy in unexpected ways.

“Sorry!” Jeff called. “Looked like Edge was outnumbered.”

“traitor!” Stretch howled. He pointed at Jeff, calling out to the children. “everyone gets an extra life! attack the stealth player, engage, engage!”

Instantly, the children rallied, snowballs in hand, and Jeff let out a laughing shriek and tried to run, but his escape was thwarted by the slippery sidewalk. Soon, he was numbered amongst the fallen, laughing and pleading as the children fell on him as one, snowballs flying.

Edge took the distraction as a chance to catch hold of Stretch, pulling him firmly into his arms despite his startled yelp. 

“It looks as if I have a hostage,” Edge murmured, nuzzling a soft kiss against the chilled bone beneath Stretch’s audial canal. 

“i’ll never talk,” Stretch said stoutly. His resolve was somewhat diminished by the way he tilted his skull into Edge’s kisses. “you’ll never get a peep out of me, my mind is a steel trap, i…wait, don’t, edge!!”

He squealed, trying to squirm away as Edge slipped his cold hands beneath his jacket, pressing them against his bare ribs. His shrill pleading caught the attention of the children and Edge was forced to abandon his hostage, leaving him to fall beneath the hail of snowballs in his place as he ran for cover, chuckling breathlessly. 

Soon enough the children would be exhausted and the supply of cocoa he’d laid in for the season would be coming in handy. But for now, it was war, and it was him against the neighborhood minions. Those were odds he could get behind.

Edge took the brief moment to gather more ammo, readying himself for the last push. Cocoa and cookies would come, along with cuddles with Stretch and sweet, laughing kisses that would have the children groaning their disgust even as they happily demolished the treats. That was the reward, oh, yes.

But first, Edge had a battle to win. 

-finis-


	10. Nicely Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day #11 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Naughty or Nice

* * *

In the fireplace, flames were dancing brightly, their shine burnishing the entire room in golden light. Wine glowed a deep burgundy in long-stem glasses on the coffee table, and the soft strains of instrumental holiday music filled the air. 

The playlist was one Edge made from memory of one of the old cassettes he’d once owned in Underfell. The first time he’d heard it, he hadn’t even known what Gyftmas was; he’d listened to it on a badly taped-up Walkman with broken headphones, the sound snowy with static that did nothing to dull his wonder. A rare fond memory that he could share with Stretch, but one that would have to wait. 

For now, his mouth was caught up in something more indulgent than mere words, kissing his husband with deep, luxurious strokes of tongue and teeth. Stretch tasted of wine, of the candy cane he’d been eating, of his own natural sweetness, and the tiny, soft sounds caught in his throat were a wordless plea that left Edge helpless, bound only by the limitations of body for what he would do to hear those sounds again. 

Stretch was more in his lap than not, his long legs draped overtop Edge’s. The blanket slung over his shoulders was sagging halfway to the floor and beneath it, Stretch was only wearing pajamas, a pair of Edge’s own, soft plaid flannel that clung warmly to his bones and by all the heavenly stars, Stretch was beautiful.

“you always think i’m beautiful,” Stretch whispered between their mouths, teasingly sly and his eye lights were soft, clouded with desire. 

“You always are,” Edge told him hoarsely. 

“you need to take a glance at yourself from time to time—oh!”

He broke off as Edge shifted to tip him backwards onto the sofa, rearranging them both until Stretch was on his back and Edge could settle on top of him, pressing him into the plush cushions. The temptation of his pretty bones was maddening, but Edge did not loosen his hold on his control, not yet. Only flicked open the top button on the shirt, exposing a wider glimpse of those slender, pale bones.

“oh,” Stretch shivered as Edge lapped softly at his clavicles. He squirmed against Edge’s confining weight, blunt fingertips digging lightly into his scapulas and their femurs sliding together through two layers of cloth. “think santa won’t bring us any presents if we’re naughty?”

“This isn’t naughty,” Edge murmured. He let his teeth scrape very carefully against that delicate bone, dragging out a soft gasp, “this is very, very nice.”

“very nice,” Stretch agreed, his voice breaking on a whimper. His hands scrabbled at the front of Edge’s shirt, fisting in the soft material to haul him back up, his mouth wildly urgent against Edge’s. 

Beneath that tangled blanket there was only them, the world outside banked away behind the strains of music, the crackle of the fire, the decadent warmth between them. A gift without price, and if he never had another, Edge would call this one worth it. 

-finis-


	11. Your Presents Is Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day #12 of the 12 Days of Cheer: Opening Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did it! Despite struggling through being sick, I managed to get to the last day! I know it’s only the 23rd, but better early than never. ^_^

* * *

"Are you nearly ready?" Edge called up the stairs. 

He waited, listening, and from the muffled thumping that floated back down, he was going to assume the answer was yes. 

By the door were packed bundles filled with gifts and carefully covered trays of food and desserts, all waiting to be jigsawed into Edge’s car for the short trip over to Sans and Papyrus’s house. Edge was long-since dressed in his carefully pressed suit and only needed to slip on his overcoat, completely prepared to head over for the holiday festivities, except for one small, missing detail; his husband, who was ostensibly still getting ready. 

It was difficult to decide whether amusement or despair should be the correct emotion for the wait, but once Stretch came downstairs, Edge assumed the choice would make itself. 

He’d been suspiciously secretive about his outfit , going so far as to lock himself in the master bathroom after loftily informing Edge that it was a surprise. ‘Surprise’ was likely to be the telltale expression; a very neutral word, that, easily modified by others terms, ones like ‘happy’ or ‘tragically horrid’. But Edge’s imagination was doing him no favors as he wondered.

Perhaps it was one of those ridiculous suits they'd seen in the department stores, scratchy polyester material in bright greens and reds, garishly decorated with pictures of candy canes and vapidly grinning gingerbread men. 

Or worse, he could have chosen something along the plushier vein, suiting up as a reindeer or perhaps even a snowman. Some unfortunate face paint could explain the lengthy wait. 

Edge held back a shudder, stifling his runaway imagination before it could offer anything worse. He loved his husband, very much, and he wasn’t about to spoil his holiday joy, no matter how tacky it revealed itself to be. But whatever it was, it did need to come faster.

“Stretch?” Edge called up, a hint of impatience worming its way in. The hors d'oeuvres were cooling by the moment and they should be at least served warm. 

“coming, coming!” Finally the bedroom door opened, but Edge couldn't have possibly anticipated what his husband came downstairs wearing. 

A new suit, yes, but not one he'd snagged off any cheap rack. It fit him to a perfection that spoke of expert tailoring, sleek lines against his slim bones. His tie was a subtle orange plaid and deftly knotted, with a black vest over his white shirt rather than a suit jacket, his trousers tapering down his long legs to his ankles with only the slightest break atop his well-polished, carefully tied shoes. 

The effect was rather simple and yet, incredibly stunning. Certainly Edge felt as if he’d taken a velvet-cushioned blow straight between the eye sockets. 

From Stretch's pleased grin, he was reading Edge's expression like one might a well-loved book. He did a little twirl at the base of the stairs, proving that the sight was just as appealing from behind. "you like? went to the same tailor that did my wedding tux.” 

Suits demanded a certain posture and it emphasised their height difference, forcing Edge to look up as Stretch prowled over him. He rubbed a knuckle lightly across the muted crimson silk of Edge’s tie, blunt fingertips trailing across his lapel. “figured i could dress up for you in my own clothes for one night."

"You look—" Language failed him and Edge dropped his gaze from those knowing eyelights, drinking in the sight. Gorgeous seemed a dim understatement to the truth. Lovely as he knew Stretch to be, Edge never made any attempts to change Stretch’s style of dress; no subtle comments, none of his more unusual apparel getting lost in the wash. If anything, Edge added clothing to his own side of the closet that might interest Stretch in certain circumstances, if only to give him an excuse to borrow a shirt or a pair of pants. 

To see him like this, exquisitely dressed as a visual treat to the gaze? Every part of Edge yearned towards him, his soul wanted to fall into the gravitational pull that was his beautiful Stretch, his husband. His. 

Who was smiling at him, soft and warm, "guess it was worth all the youtube videos to figure out how to tie this noose. and hey, don't forget the best part.” Stretch’s grin turned sly, his tongue grazing across his teeth, “when we get home, you get to unwrap your present."

The click at the back of his throat as Edge swallowed seemed too loud, echoing in his audial canals. Lovely, yes, Stretch was always gorgeous. And Edge could imagine that he would perhaps be even lovelier in their bed, lying back in the ruins of a very fine suit. 

The sudden urge to immediately find out was viciously suppressed and Edge blink hard to chase away the lingering vision. It was made easier by Stretch sliding on his coat, covering up that teasing suit at least for a short while. But he stopped Stretch before he could gather up any of the bags. "Wait." 

Edge leaned in and kissed away that quizzical look, softly, sweetly. He didn’t lay so much as a finger on him, keeping a careful cushion of distance between their bodies. But when he leaned away he saw that somehow, despite the care, Stretch ended up slightly rumpled anyhow. A slight crease in his shirt, the barest cant to his tie, one shoelace verging on the threat of untying. It only made Edge smile to see it. Beneath all the sleek finery, he was still Stretch, and that was all Edge ever wanted him to be.

“Merry Gyftmas,” Edge murmured, rubbing a gloved thumb lightly over the temptation of Stretch’s mouth. 

He kissed it almost dazedly, mumbling back, “merry gyftmas.” The soft haze of his eye lights sharpened as Stretch blinked, matching his grin as whirled away and he began snatching up the bags of presents. “c’mon, let’s get going!” 

“I’m right behind you,” Edge assured him, gathering up his own stack of trays. Today would be a whirlwind of gifts and laughter, food and joy with their family. 

Unwrapping his real gift would be worth the wait. 

-finis-


	12. Last Minute Gift (kustard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to the main series, Sans has some thoughts about the Gyftmas season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Kustard and for Mature Content, plus some very slight consent issues. Red and Sans, really? This is what you give me for the holiday?

* * *

It was their second winter on the surface, them and the skeletons who were and weren’t them, and Sans’d gotten pretty used to his particular brand of the clone war hanging around the house. Paps wouldn’t have wanted it any other way; he took particular delight in their unexpected family and he always invited them over for all the holidays, but especially this one. 

Gyftmas in Snowdin hadn’t ever been quite this crowded. All of them sitting around the tree in a nest of torn wrapping paper, sipping their eggnog and going for that holiday joy. 

Well, almost all of them. 

The house was loaded with happy cheer, fa la la la la, and his bro was the coolest, no question, throwing the best Gyftmas party in town and yet, Sans couldn’t exactly blame Red for needing to take a minute for himself. 

For starters, even he was starting to get a little nauseated by the way Edge and Stretch kept up with the snarling flirtation, circling each other like dogs in heat. Be a relief when the two of them finally caught a clue and shacked up, but until then, it left the rest of them vicariously stuck in their mean little seduction cycle, listening to every tease disguised as an insult, every snipe that begged for a kiss. 

Yeah, if that was his bro, Sans would’ve taken a smoke break, too. 

All the others were getting into a loud, cheerful argument over whether to watch a holiday movie or trying again to play Pictionary, hopefully this time without any damage to home or furniture, hell, they only had three fire extinguishers. Most of ‘em were, anyway, Stretch was looking a lot like he wanted a smoke break of his own, but Blue had confiscated his ciggies after his fourth one for the night, because long-term avoidance was only allowed for the family member who was the least house-trained and might damn well bite if anyone went for his nicotine. 

Couldn’t be allowed for the whole night, though, and Sans gave Red about twenty minutes before he went after him, partly to get his own minute of peace but also, if he didn’t then Edge would and that was likely to start another ‘whose a shittier brother argument’ with him and Stretch. Seriously, he’d seen enough foreplay between those two for the day, thanks. 

No one gave him so much as a glance as he slipped out the front door to the strains of Bing Crosby and amicable squabbling. The cold winter air felt good against his overheated face and Sans took a minute to breathe it in before trying on his Sherlock Holmes. Not that Red was too hard to find. A lack of extra footsteps through the snow led him to the cleared area between the house and the garage, and he could see the dim glow of Red’s cigar, smell the bitter musk of the smoke. 

“done hiding out here?” Sans asked. “only, i think your bro is noticing a you-shaped hole in there, might want to fill it for him.” His own cigarettes were in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for them. Only watched Red exhale a pale cloud, his gaze flicking over Sans and who knew what indecencies Red was reading off his bones; Sans could read into the souls of anyone at all except his own and maybe that’s why Red’s was inscrutable to him. 

No need to think about any of that shit right now, though, was there? Nope. All he was doing was making sure his bro’s party went off without a hitch and he wasn’t gonna let Red’s shitty attitude ruin it. 

Red stuck his cigar between his teeth, grinning around it, “except you’re the one who joined the search party. wassamatter, miss me already?”

“what i’ll miss is not having a steady stream of bullshit in the air,” Sans scoffed. “but it’ll keep your bro quiet and my bro happy. you can call it a late gyftmas present.”

“yeah?” Smoke was trailing from Red’s eye sockets and it only emphasized how much his eye lights burned like coals. “but you didn’t get _me_ a present, did ya, sansy?”

“guess i forgot. should’ve gotten your list to santa a little earlier,” Sans said lightly. “but then, i got a pretty good idea of how naughty you were this year, don’t i.”

Sans was pretty sure he didn’t mean to say it like that, as an unintentional goad. A reminder of how they’d fucked around a coupla times this summer while they were overseas. Ain’t much to the story, a drunken handjob once or twice at night when they were sick to their souls of playing nice around the Human politicians. Not here, though, never here at home, that shit was for strange places and times, any bitchy port in a shitstorm. 

So he wasn’t expecting the hands that reached out, grabbing a vicious fistful of his hoodie to swing him around, wasn’t expecting to get slammed into the house and Red pushed hard against him, holding him face first against the siding. Instinct was to shortcut, stifled sharply enough that he felt the burn of aborted magic, tasted it raw at the back of his throat.

“maybe i’ll take my present,” Red said roughly. He crowded in against Sans’s back, heavy against him, all the layers of his thick coat and clothes meant nothing as he ground their hips together, one hand reaching between Sans’s legs and cupping his crotch with rude intensity. “maybe this’s the gift i’ve been waiting for.”

“do i get a say in this? asking for a friend, just curious if i’m allowed to say no.” Absurdly petulant, strengthless and useless, like every other fucking thing in his life. As if his cock wasn’t already throbbing like a wound, bound by frustrating layers of fabric between it and Red’s hand. 

“you sayin’ it?” Hot breath against his cervical vertebrae and that hand didn’t move, holding perfectly still even as Sans’s hips got sick of waiting for permission and tried to lurch into his grip. 

Yeah, about that. Sans squirmed halfheartedly against the weight hemming him in and didn’t say a damned word. Too fucking late, his body was offering a strenuous, mute protest at the very thought and he was already het up on the giddiness of risk; anyone could come out here, Edge on a mission to find his bro, Stretch sneaking off for a cig, even his own brother finally missing him. But the momentum was already skittering dangerously out of control. Maybe it had since Sans took his first step out the door. 

Just because the laughter was silent didn’t mean Sans couldn’t hear it, but fuck, it was hard to hear anything over the creaking sound of his own bones, flexing hard as Red’s hand wormed through the tangle of his shorts to grip him in cold, clawed fingers. Strangling tight around his cock and it was probably the only thing that kept him from coming right then. 

The freezing house siding was warming beneath his cheek bone, leaving trails of snowmelt to run down his face. Red’s hand moved on him in quick, jerky strokes and dimly Sans could hear him breathing heavily, pressed hard against his back and there was nothing but hot breath and cold air and fuck, Red jerking him like the fucking bastard he was, too good, too, too fucking good, and if there was a difference between want and need in that moment, Sans didn’t know it. 

Sans groaned through his teeth as he came, too loud in the still air and a hand fumbled over his mouth, a sharp hiss by his head of “shut up!” but he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_. Probably didn’t last for fifteen seconds but Sans was coming hard, crashing through his floodgates, and it’d been so fucking long, not since those drunken moments last summer. Left him stunned and sagging and he would’ve fallen to his knees if Red wasn’t holding him up, would’ve had to come up with a cheap explanation for snow-wet shorts.

“yeah, that’s it,” Red whispered roughly. “that’s it, just like that.” His hand didn’t stop, still squeezing and stroking until Sans winced, pushing it away.

He was still loose-limbed and lost when Red hauled him around, shoving him roughly up against the side of the house again. But not so much that Sans couldn’t turn his head away from the kiss that tried to descend on him, the sharp grin on Red’s mouth widening like he didn’t even mind. 

“okay, sansy, have it your way.” Red let him go and Sans slid down a couple inches before he caught himself, braced against the aluminum siding. Red wiped his hand on his shorts, leaving wet smears that showed no color against his dark fabric which was a good fucking thing because he didn’t want to see Red try to explain why it looked like he’d had a pen explode in his pocket. He turned towards the house, tossing back over his shoulder, “thanks for the present.”

Sans didn’t move until he heard the front door opening, the brief burst of chaotic cheer escaping, cut off as the door closed again. Only then did he reach for his cigarettes, ignoring the trembling in his hands as he lit one and took a long, deep drag.

Yeah, so, that happened. 

Inside, his brother was probably still glowing with happiness of the success of his Gyftmas party and Sans wasn’t about to let anything interfere with the joy to his world. He was gonna finish his ciggie, head back in, and see what way he felt like swaying the vote for Pictionary. No rule said he had to think about this shit for any longer than necessary, was there? Nope. 

Wasn’t even the worst Gyftmas present of his life, not even close, and he was gonna stop thinking about _that_ right fucking now. 

Sans stubbed out his cigarette and headed back inside and if he pointedly didn’t look at Red, or talk to him, or even get fucking near him, eh. 

Of all their shared talents, the one of refusing to see what was right in front of their face seemed like a universal trait. 

_-finis-_


	13. Untitled Chicken Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who needs a fluffy chicken drabble to start/finish their day

* * *

It was right around too damn early when Stretch wandered downstairs, still yawning and his bathrobe flapping open as he scratching his pelvis. But the brewing coffee was using its wiles and Stretch followed it into the kitchen where Edge was standing at the stove. 

Edge didn’t even look up, only picked up the coffee carafe and poured a cup, nudging it in Stretch’s direction. See, this was one of the reasons Stretch loved him so much. Coffee was the extra partner in their relationship and both of them had the sense to not be jealous of its seductive ways. 

A heavy dollop of french vanilla creamer later and Stretch was inhaling that perfume, guzzling the creamy perfection. He gave the caffeine a minute to juice him up before he tried to actually look at what Edge was making for breakfast. 

Well. That was different. 

The griddle was a familiar sight, Edge often made pancakes on the weekends. It was the dimensions of ‘em that took Stretch aback, barely the size of a quarter, a dozen or so spread across the glossy cast iron. A platter next to the stove already held a couple batches, perfectly brown and tiny. 

“are we having hobbiton over for breakfast?” Stretch asked doubtfully. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hobbits would want pancakes twice the size as normal,” Edge said crisply. He carefully flipped each one with the tiniest spatula Stretch had ever seen. 

“can’t argue that.” Stretch reached out to filch one of the minis, only to hastily yank his hand back when the spatula threatened. “what? it’s not like it’ll ruin my appetite.”

“Actually, it might. I’m making these for the chickens and unless you’d like to crunch on a little extra grain, you might not care for them.”

Okay, yeah, now that he looked closer, he could see the dark specks of seeds dotted across them. Damn, what a way to ruin a perfect mini mouthful.

Wait.

“you’re making _pancakes_ for our chickens?” Stretch asked gleefully. “seriously?”

A faint hint of crimson touched Edge’s cheekbones. “And if I am? Don’t they deserve special weekend treats?” 

Stretch slouched against the counter, sipping his coffee as he peered into the batter bowl. Yep, plenty of grain and oats in there. “babe, they act like your scrap bucket is manna from heaven, those little brats would steal a finger bone if they weren’t firmly attached.”

“They deserve treats,” Edge said stubbornly. He carefully spooned out more batter onto the griddle.

“like they aren’t already in love with you? don’t know if you can get them to adore you more.” 

Stretch set aside his coffee cup and pulled out his phone, ignoring Edge’s exasperated sighs as he snapped a couple of good pictures of the various states of pancakes. His hasty tweet already had a dozen likes before he tossed his phone on the counter, sidling up behind Edge and sliding his arms around him. Indignant huffs aside, Edge leaned back into his arms, easily flipping those tiny cakes despite Stretch’s attempt at a decent grope. “then again, i’m always finding new ways to fall in love with you. better give the chickies the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’m not trying to seduce them,” Edge said dryly. “They are beneficial members of our family unit and deserve treats. After all, without their eggs, I wouldn’t even be able to make pancakes.”

Yeah, that was true--“wait. you used their eggs to make pancakes you’re feeding them?” Stretch asked. He slowly drew back, staring at Edge in horror. ”okay, no, that is so wrong.”

“Of course I did. They’re eggs. What difference does it make where it came from, an egg is an egg.”

“it...it just does!” Stretch moaned. ”you can’t feed them their own eggs!”

“You’re being silly,” Edge scoffed. He added the last batch of pancakes to the tray, garnishing it with a few cut strawberries because angel forbid they stiff the chickens on presentation. “I’ve been feeding them eggshells for the past year.”

“you what??”

Crawling heebie jeebies aside, Stretch grudgingly admitted that the ladies loved their treat. They were already crowded by the coop door when Edge carried the tray out and when he set it down, they fell upon it like the greedy little dinosaurs they were, gobbling them down. 

“See?” Edge said smugly. “They like them.”

“uh huh,” Stretch only shook his head, ugh, it was still _wrong_. “yeah, well, i’m not sure i trust their opinions on issues of morality.” That aside, he still gave Edge a few minutes to bask in his success before slinging both arms around his shoulders and sagging, letting Edge take his weight as he wheedled, “don’t i get a treat?”

“I’m not sure,” Edge said thoughtfully. “After all, you’d be eating the eggs of chickens you know. I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable, perhaps anonymous eggs would be better--”

“stop.”

“Or would a signed permission slip from our chickens do? I can have a contract drawn up if you like, I’m a certified notary. I could probably outline one right now. ‘Henceforth all eggs acquired from internal sources shall only be used for--’”

He broke off as Stretch gave his pelvis a sharp pinch. “you aren’t funny.”

“Not in the slightest,” Edge said solemnly. “Just as I’ve always said.” He tipped his head back, straining to nuzzle a kiss against Stretch’s cheek bone. “But I can be a little _humerus_. Come on, I’ll make breakfast.”

“always when i don’t have my phone,” Stretch grumbled. But he followed Edge in, leaving the chickens to finish demolishing their treat. “hey, babe, i am hungry but i gotta say, pancakes don’t _stack up_ to you. Not to be _syrupy_ , but I _flippin’_ love you, you’re _waffle-y_ cute, and--”

A quick kiss cut him off, but he could feel Edge’s smile. It was gone by the time Edge drew back, saying sternly, “Enough.”

“you got it.”

With the promise of food at risk, Stretch decided it might be better to save up the puns until after breakfast. After all, Edge’s pancakes were always an egg-cellent start to the day.

-finis-


	14. Unmasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last short of the decade! Happy New Year!

* * *

From the very beginning, the masquerade was Toriel’s idea. 

It seemed she’d gotten the idea from a movie and fallen in love with the thought of Humans and Monsters together on the eve of the New Year, removing their masks as one when the clock struck twelve. 

That Asgore was eager to fulfill his ex-wife’s dreams was a surprise to exactly no one in the Monster community, and plans were quickly drawn up for a New Year’s Masquerade Ball, invitations sent and the party committee enthusiastically planning what would be the last celebration of the decade.

Excited as everyone was, it was not without a few caveats. Per the rules, masks were to only cover half the face and they were to be donned after the wearer cleared security. Each attendee would have a discreet wristband as well, lightly imbued with magic verifying they had been cleared. Arrangements were made to turn a few empty conference spaces into temporary dressing rooms, with plenty of mirrors to allow their guests to don their masks, and there was something theatrically mystical in watching them sweep into the ballroom wearing them, a brilliant spectacle of glittery sequins and bright feathers. 

The security measures were his brother’s very grudging concession to allow the ball at all, and a few times Edge even saw him in the ballroom, prowling through the crowds in a simple black mask and what his brother saw, Edge couldn’t say, but there was no one he trusted more to be in charge of making sure all the attendees were safe. 

As it turned out, whatever flaws were not ones of safety, but of comfort. Well before midnight many guests had already abandoned their masks, leaving them laid out on the tables to watch the dance floor with their empty eyes. 

Edge still wore his, partly out of respect for the former Queen, who was resplendent in a rich blue ball gown that matched the spray of peacock feathers from her mask. But mostly, he could admit that he liked wearing it. 

He’d never deny having a bit of a theatrical urge of his own and enjoyed a chance to indulge it. He’d forgone feathers for exquisite golden scrollwork over a black diamond background, the combination flattering against the tint of his magic. He’d chosen a phantom-style mask, only covering one side of his face, and he supposed it was his contrary nature that urged him to leave his cracked socket uncovered. 

Stretch hadn’t commented on it either way. He’d only ran his thumb along Edge’s bare cheek bone before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Edge to his work while he mingled and chatted with the other guests.

But now the minutes were ticking down to midnight and his husband, masked or otherwise, was nowhere in sight. Not on the dance floor where earlier he’d laughed his way through a waltz with Jeff, not in the savaged buffett line, most of the platters getting cleared away as the caterers began opened bottles of champagne. 

Edge was about to call his cell phone when Red’s voice crackled through his modified earpiece.

“if you’re looking for your honey bun, he snuck upstairs to your office.”

“Really?” Edge said, surprised. All the upper floors were locked, but Stretch would hardly need a key. 

“uh huh. clock is going ticky-tock, bro, better go fetch,”

“Woof,” Edge said dryly, and his brother’s chuckle followed him into the darkened, empty hallways. He took the stairs rather than the elevator, each lock opened beneath the swipe of his card, until finally he was in the outer office, light coming out from beneath his door. 

Edge opened it to find Stretch sprawled out on his sofa. His mask was pushed up carelessly on top of his skull, giving him the somewhat unnerving appearance of having two faces. He’d chosen a domino mask in delicate shades of antique orange and gold, surprisingly simple, or perhaps not; outside the blatantly ridiculous, Stretch really wasn’t one for dressing up. His bowtie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck like a playboy in an old black and white movie, his suit jacket hanging open, shoes kicked off in a messy pile on the floor. By contrast, Edge was buttoned up and tidy, not a wrinkle in his suit or a scuff on his shoes.

When was it exactly, he wondered with idle humor, that his romantic tastes became so different than his personal. Not that it mattered, there was only one person on whom he found it appealing, the same one who was tipping a lazy smile in his direction. “hey, babe, nice of you to stop in.”

“What are you doing in here?” Edge asked, wavering between curiosity and amusement. 

Stretch shrugged. “wanted a quiet corner for a minute and figured if i went outside, i’d end up bumming a smoke.”

“You might have told me,” Edge pointed out.

“eh, i knew you’d find me. you always do.” It was said with such fondness it sent a loving cramp through Edge’s soul. Stretch waved a hand at the table where there was a glass bottle dewy with condensation and two champagne glasses. “i took the liberty of preparing us for midnight, hope you don’t mind.”

Edge raised a brow bone, the one not hidden beneath his mask. “The caterers let you take one?”

“of course,” Stretch scoffed. “they were pretty eager to hand it over when i told them it was for you.” 

Edge shook his head. “Of course, using my good name for nefarious purposes.”

“it was for a good cause. now, so long as you’re here--” Stretch sat up and patted the seat next to him with generous exaggeration. It was terribly tempting, but--

“Love, I can’t stay away,” Edge said with true regret. Much as he might want to indulge, he had responsibilities and it was hardly fair to ask the others to make up for his absence. 

Stretch only gave him a soft smile. “i know. and i don’t expect you to, i know how important this is. all i want is a toast, a kiss, and an i love you. the order is optional. figured they could spare you long enough for that?”

Edge still didn’t sit; instead, he picked up the bottle, examining the label. A nice, middle of the road brand, matching the cautious balance between frugality and extravagance that the Embassy always needed to carefully straddle for the fickle whims of Human politicians.

With little flourish, he uncorked it, pouring each of them a glass of golden, bubbling champagne and offering one to his husband. Only then did he sit, his own glass in hand.

Stretch tapped the rims together with a light, ringing chime. “toasting the one who keeps me toasty.”

Edge smiled and lifted his own glass. “If I know what love is, it is because of you. I love you for all that you are, all that you have been and all you are yet to be.”

“welp, that beats mine.” But there was a warm flush to his cheek bones, delicate honey-orange only a shade darker than the champagne. 

“It should, I’ve been rehearsing it for two days.”

Edge took a heavy sip, and the flavor washed over his tongue, bright and sweet. The taste was almost immediately a shared one, Stretch pushing up Edge’s mask, baring his face as he cupped Edge’s chin in one slim hand. His kiss was tender, almost chaste as the shared sweetness of champagne and magic mingled between their mouths.

Stretch drew away and his sockets were hooded over soft eye lights, his face hiding nothing as he murmured, “love you,” 

“I love you back,” Edge said hoarsely. Words that years ago, he never would have expected to be so easy to say, but he didn’t need a mask of any sort here, not in front of Stretch. 

He had no idea if it was midnight yet and didn’t care, taking another kiss, more than ready to spend another year with this beautiful, brilliant soul, sharing their kisses and love. 

-finis-


	15. Auld Lang Syne (kustard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few thirsty people wondered where Sans and Red were during the masquerade ball. So here you go, my first gift of the New Year!

* * *

It was seconds to midnight and a gonging bell was chiming overtop the crowd as they counted, “ten, nine, eight—"

Sans lingered back, watching them. He wasn’t in a costume, but that didn’t matter; no one would notice, their gazes would fall right past him on their way to the other side. Flying under the radar was one of his best tricks. Mostly, he was seeking, opening up his senses and feeling out the crowd for any malicious intent. 

‘bout all he was getting was drunken revelry, all except one quickly hidden flash and it was anything but malicious, matched to a skeletal body that was suddenly pressed up against his back. 

“didn’t think i was gonna miss my kiss, didja?” All rich, dark amusement and Sans closed his sockets as fingers plucked at his neckline, tugging his hoodie open so that a sharp-tipped thumb could skirt along his cervical vertebrae. It halted only when it met the supple leather that circled his throat and chose that path instead, skimming lightly along it to linger between buckle and bone.

“thought i was getting a kiss,” Sans said, and he could hear his own breathlessness over the cheers of the crowd and the overwhelming strains of 'Auld Lang Syne'.

“never said where.” His gasp was drowned out as a hot mouth descended on him, ignoring the warning prickle of sharp teeth on his spine as he lurched into that touch only for it to draw back and instead a wet tongue licked teasingly, trailing all the way down to his collarbone to leave him weak and shivering, embarrassingly close already to begging for more. 

No one saw them, no one noticed, all lost in their own pockets of cheer and intimacy shared with a hundred others. First kiss of the New Year and Sans thought they were starting it out just fine. 

-fin


End file.
